


Ryan's Christmas Carol

by Rycolfan (Snarryeyes)



Category: Whose Line Is It Anyway? RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - A Christmas Carol Fusion, Angst, M/M, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28287072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snarryeyes/pseuds/Rycolfan
Summary: Ryan's life has spiralled downwards. Intervention comes in the form of three spirits...
Relationships: Colin Mochrie/Ryan Stiles, Debra McGrath/Colin Mochrie, Patricia Stiles/Ryan Stiles
Comments: 33
Kudos: 19





	1. Carey's Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I've been writing for years - every Christmas I've written more with the intention of finishing it, but I haven't managed it until this year (tbh I'm still tweaking the later chapters). I don't know how many people are still around in this fandom to read it. Hopefully some.
> 
> Not real. No offense intended to those portrayed herein.

Carey was dead, to begin with. Ryan knew this. He’d seen the lifeless body in an open casket at the funeral, dressed in a deep blue suit and tie with a yellow rose placed in the lapel. Ryan had only glanced briefly at the pale face before averting his eyes. He hated funerals.

Yes Carey was dead, courtesy of a massive heart attack that struck on a cold November night during what turned out to be his final meal. His latest paramour had run screaming from the house and hadn’t been seen since. An inheritance would no doubt have lured her out of the woodwork but, as they were not married, no such inheritance existed.

Without Drew’s influence on his career and willingness to ignore his less than professional behavior, Ryan’s life took a similar downward turn. Offers dried up. He drank more. Contracts were not renewed. He drank more. No one in the industry was prepared to bet on an increasingly bitter drunk who used to be a comedian. If his wife hadn’t kicked him out already, she most certainly would have at that point. Ryan couldn’t bring himself to care much. He didn’t need anybody. Being alone was how he liked it. And he had plenty of money set aside to do exactly what he wanted without any interference.

People tended to pity him more around the holiday season. There’d be an upsurge of visitors, pouring their unwanted and pathetic platitudes upon him. His harsh tongue drove them away, and pretty soon only the very brave—or rather foolhardy—even attempted turning up at his door. But that didn’t stop the phone calls.

“Merry Christmas, Dad!”

“It’s not Christmas until tomorrow,” Ryan replied with customary sourness. He settled back in his chair and grabbed another bottle of beer. “And besides, what’s merry about it?”

“Everything,” Mac said cheerfully. She’d been extra cheerful since becoming engaged the Christmas before to an up and coming lawyer. He hadn’t asked for Ryan’s permission. “You’re not going to win this argument. Are you still refusing to leave the house? Because there’s plenty of turkey to go around tomorrow.”

“I prefer beer.”

“Of course you do. Well, the offer still stands. If you don’t come, I’ll be sure to send the carolers your way to cheer you up!”

“I don’t want—Mac!”

She’d already disconnected. Ryan slammed the phone down. It would be just like her to do that just to spite him. She was so much like her mother.

Moments later a series of loud knocks sounded at the door. Cursing, Ryan slammed his bottle down. The action sloshed amber liquid onto what was once a highly polished wooden table. Now the stain would blend in with the many others.

As he went to the door, he was contemplating the exact wording he’d use to tell the person on the other side to leave him the hell alone. If it was the charity collectors back again, he might just throw something. They were constantly at his door, harping on about the poor dying needlessly. Everyone had to die sometime. Besides, there were too many people in L.A. anyway; it wasn’t needless, it was population control.

Readying himself, Ryan ripped the door open. “What?”

Colin didn’t seem surprised by the attitude but he did glance down at Ryan’s attire with a frown. “You’re not dressed.”

Ryan stared at him. “What the hell are you talking about? I’m not naked.”

Colin’s gaze flicked back up to his, disappointment swelling within them. “You forgot,” he sighed.

It was only then that Ryan noticed Colin’s clothes—a dark suit and deep red silk tie—and the spark of a memory resurfaced.

“The Christmas party?” Colin prompted, getting there ahead of him. “Remember? You said you’d come.”

Ryan turned and headed back inside, knowing without having to look that Colin would follow him. “I only said that to get you off my case.”

“Yeah, well now I’m back on it,” was Colin’s reply, followed by the click of the front door. “Come on, one night. It won’t kill you.”

“It just might,” Ryan grumbled, doggedly returning to his chair and the beer he’d left beside it. “Anyway, I’m watching the game.”

“So? DVR it.”

“I’m happy here.”

Colin stood in front of his chair, blocking the television completely. “Are you? Because you don’t look it.”

Ryan knew Colin wouldn’t quit unless he took action. He reached out and grabbed hold of Colin’s tie, tugging him forward, lowering his voice to a purr. “You could make me happier here.”

“Ryan, come on—“

“What?” Ryan asked, fingers already closing around the metal zipper of Colin’s pants, tugging harder on the tie so that Colin was almost bent double, lips caressing his neck. “You want me to be happy, right?”

He could feel Colin’s resolve weakening and boldly pushed his hand into Colin’s pants, moving his lips up for a hard, bruising kiss. This was just how he liked it, just what he needed. But he was abruptly pushed away.

“Not like this.” Colin turned away, blowing out a deep breath, and then shook his head. “This isn’t you, Ryan. This person you’ve become.” He looked back at Ryan. “I don’t know you anymore.”

Anger, always so close to the surface these days, now clouded Ryan’s mind, blocking out all reason; a rage against the world and everyone in it. He swiped the bottle from the table and took a large swig.

“Maybe this is me,” he said in defiance, not caring about the drops spilling down his chin. “Maybe this was always me and you never knew me at all.”

“Maybe,” Colin said quietly, almost to himself.

“Now if you’re not going to let me fuck you, you can get the hell out.”

It was Colin’s loss, he told himself after the door had closed—not slammed, just closed with a gentle snick. The sound of another chapter of his life ending. Whatever. It didn’t matter. He settled back to watch the game and drank his way through another three bottles before it was over, then another two in darkness after the light from the TV was extinguished.

Ryan had slipped into a light doze, his latest bottle slowly slipping from his grasp, when the television snapped back on again and woke him with a jolt. Instead of a picture there was only static, filling the room with a bright flickering light that made Ryan’s head hurt. Dazedly he looked underneath his body for the remote, assuming he’d accidentally pressed against it. He was still searching when he heard a strange noise, like someone whispering. It made him pause and look up, his gaze scouring the room for the source, but he couldn’t see anything out of place. Carolers outside, perhaps, too afraid to knock at the door.

“Leave me alone!” he bellowed, hoping that would be an end to it but still the whispering continued.

Ryan sat up and scrubbed his eyes, shaking his head for good measure. Then he saw the remote sitting on the coffee table, a good three feet away from him. His eyes were drawn back to the static-filled screen, narrowing in the face of its harsh light. The specks of light seemed to be swirling towards the center where a shape was slowly forming—a face. As it took shape, it became more familiar, and the whispers became clearer, one long drawn out word. _Ryan._

Ryan grabbed the remote and turned the television off, plunging the room back into silent darkness. Until…

_Ryan._

Ryan shot to his feet, almost falling over. It was impossible. Drew Carey was dead. He could absolutely not be there in the house. It wasn’t just impossible, it was ridiculous. Laughable! Ryan tried to laugh but the darkness swallowed the sound and threw it back to him in a series of ghostly echoes.

_Ryan._

“Enough!”

Ryan crossed the room and turned the lights on, picking up the baseball bat he always kept near the door for good measure.

“You won’t think this is funny when I get my hands on you!”

The lights flickered and dimmed, a chill creeping across the room to prick at Ryan’s exposed skin.

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Jesus Christ!” Ryan yelled, scrambling backwards until his body met the door. Drew Carey was sitting in his chair, right there in front of him. “You’re dead!”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“But how—why—what are you—what the hell is this?” Ryan’s gaze shifted to the bottle lying on the floor nearby and let out a crazed laugh. “I’m drunk. This isn’t happening.”

“It is,” Drew argued.

Ryan shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut for good measure. “No, you’re not real. I just need to go to bed and sleep it off and—ow!” His eyes flew open and he glared at Drew, rubbing the spot on his chest where he’d been hit with the TV remote.

“Still think I’m not real? Or shall I throw something else?” 

“What the hell do you want?”

“I’m here to warn you, Ryan.”

“Of what? Flying objects?”

“Of the dangerous path you’re walking. If you carry on like this, you’re going to end up like me.” Drew lifted a heavy chain that was wrapped around his waist. Following it, Ryan could see more of them winding around his legs and feet. “These chains represent everyone I wronged in my lifetime and I must carry them forever. The chains you carry are heavier still.”

“What are you talking about? I don’t have any—”

“But you still have time to change your fate, Ryan. It’s not too late. Over the next three nights you’re going to be visited by three spirits.”

“ _More_ ghosts?”

“Listen and learn or your path to this end will be set. Expect the first spirit tonight when the clock strikes one!”

The next moment, Drew had disappeared and the room was once again filled with light and warmth. Ryan wasn’t sure what had just happened. After ten minutes, he wasn’t sure it had happened at all. After a couple more stiff drinks, he’d convinced himself that it had been a figment of his imagination and decided to call it a night. He didn’t bother with any kind of routine, just crawled onto the unmade bed, pushed his face into the cool pillow and fell asleep.


	2. The First Of The Three Spirits

It was still dark when Ryan opened his eyes, unsure of what had woken him. An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach as memories of the previous evening resurfaced, compounded the next moment by the chime of a clock nearby. He didn’t even own a clock! He waited, breath held, until the hour chimed, both terrified at the prospect and irritated by the mere thought that he was buying into this nonsense.

The moment the single hour chime sounded, a bright light filled the room. Ryan fought an insane urge to pull the sheets up over his head. As the light faded, a figure became discernible.

“Hello Ryan.”

Ryan squinted as his eyes adjusted and then his mouth fell open in shock. “...Dad?” He stared. “What—how are you here?”

“How I’m here isn’t important. Why I’m here _is_. I’m your ghost of Christmas past.”

“My—” Ryan spluttered and then proceeded to close his eyes and shake his head vehemently, hoping to shake some sense back into the world. A deep chuckle somewhere to his left did little to help the situation.

“You used to do that when you were a little kid and you didn’t want to eat your veggies.”

“This is not happening. Wake up, Ryan!”

“You are awake and this is very real. Now shall we go?”

“Go? Go where?”

“To your past,” Sonny Stiles explained patiently. “Come on.”

Ryan hesitated and then slowly got off the bed, actually thankful that he’d fallen asleep fully dressed. He cautiously approached his dad, unsure of what to expect, but his father looked exactly as he remembered when he saw him last; there wasn’t anything remotely gruesome about him to show that he was long since dead. There was, however, an eerie kind of glow surrounding him. Extending a finger, Ryan prodded a shoulder. To his surprise, his finger met with resistance.

“You’re solid!”

“What did you expect? I can hardly guide you through your past if I’m just a wisp of smoke!”

Standing there next to his father, Ryan was momentarily overcome with emotion. He swallowed thickly. “It’s good to see you.”

Sonny laid a hand on his shoulder with a smile. “You too, son. Although this isn’t exactly the way I would have wanted, I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. But we must get on.”

Ryan’s bedroom started to swirl and then disappeared around him, darkness taking over before another location started to form. “Where exactly are we going?”

“How should I know? This is your journey.”

It only took a moment for Ryan to recognize his new surroundings. It was another bedroom; the one from his childhood in Vancouver. Turning he saw his younger self writing at a small desk that stood against the window, through which thick flakes of snow could be seen drifting steadily downwards.

“Do you remember this?”

Ryan nodded, his gaze never moving from the boy he used to be. “It was our first Christmas after moving to Richmond.”

As they both drew nearer, the page on which the younger Ryan was scribbling came into view. Although much of it was still obscured by the boy’s arm, the last line he’d written was clearly visible.

_Worst. Christmas. Ever!!!_

Having given up on writing, ten-year-old Ryan was now moodily doodling around his words.

“I didn’t realize you were that unhappy.”

It was this statement that made Ryan finally tear his gaze away from himself. “Really?” he asked, his tone dripping with disbelief. “I’d just been forced to leave everything behind—my home, my school, my friends, my city... I hated it!”

“It was an adjustment for all of us.”

Ryan scoffed. “You were all right at home within days. I wasn’t until—well, for a long time anyway.”

There was a loud thud against the window pane followed by muffled laughter. Although young Ryan ignored it, older Ryan couldn’t resist going to the window. Outside, his older brothers—although they all looked much younger than his present self in this scene—were in the midst of a snowball fight, throwing and dodging in equal measure. In that moment, he would have given anything to go out and join them.

He looked back at the boy still scribbling, head propped up on one arm. “Go on!” he urged. “Go join them.”

“He can’t hear you,” Sonny said. “Everyone here is merely a shadow of your past.”

Sighing, Ryan turned back to the window. His brothers had moved out of sight, but he could still hear their laughter in the distance. Now they were further away, he could also hear the soft strains of his mother singing downstairs in the kitchen as she prepared the Christmas meal. The desire to run down to see her tugged at his heart.

“Let’s see another Christmas,” Sonny said, appearing at his elbow with a gentle touch. The room dissolved and reformed, all at once the same and different. The most noticeable difference could be seen in young Ryan himself, who had grown a good two feet as a teenager and whose presence made the room seem smaller. He was currently lying on the bed, his large feet hanging off the end, and scribbling in a notebook. 

Ryan didn’t need to get a closer look to know what he was writing. These were the years he started out doing stand-up, hurrying home after a day’s work at his dad’s fish processing plant to change and head into the city for the evening performances at Punchlines Comedy Club. His only sense of fulfillment had come from his constantly evolving stand-up routine.

There was a knock at the door, followed by his mother’s voice. “Ryan?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you coming downstairs?”

“In a minute, mom.”

She popped her head around the door. “I’m surprised you have any room left in that notebook—you never seem to put it down.”

“I’ve got to have new ideas.”

“So you’re sticking with this comedy thing then, are you? I thought you were going to consider going back to finish school.”

“No, that’s what you and dad want me to consider. I already told you, I’m done with school.”

“We’d just like you to have something to fall back on if this doesn’t work out.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” the teen muttered.

Ryan knew full well that he’d taken them by surprise with his decision. Rob had always been the funny one in the family, the goofball. They’d expected Ryan to graduate and get a perfectly normal nine to five job. Despite their lack of faith, Ryan had been undeterred—even if he still wasn’t sure if stand-up was the way to go. It was good fun, and increasingly popular, but he still felt like something was missing. It was around this time that he’d heard about a new up-and-coming comedic forte—improvisation—which led him to Vancouver Theatre Sports. And that’s where he’d met Colin.

Sonny’s voice beside him broke Ryan out of his thoughts. “We didn’t give you enough credit, I know that now. But your mom and I always had your best interests at heart.”

“Yeah. I know.”

He’d been a difficult kid; they’d done their best. It had taken him a while to figure out the right fit, and those years without solid direction must have seemed wasted to those around him even if he’d made a pretty good living.

When the scene dissolved and reformed once more, they were somewhere different. And yet, although the location had changed completely, it was just as familiar to Ryan as his own bedroom—as was the figure that materialized beside his younger self with a full head of hair. 

“You remember this place?” Sonny asked, looking around.

“Like it was yesterday,” Ryan said, smiling fondly at the shabby dressing room they were standing in. “This was the old City Stage Theatre in Vancouver where Theatresports started out. Man, those were good times.”

His younger self, now in his twenties, was lounging in a rather bedraggled chair while Colin was leaning casually against the modest dressing table. They were passing a bottle of scotch between them as they talked.

“When does it stop being Dutch courage and start becoming plain drunkenness?”

Ryan accepted the bottle back with a shrug. “Who’s going to notice here?”

“Point taken,” Colin conceded, grinning. “Although we might get thrown out again if we’re caught.”

“Better not get caught then.”

“Famous last words.”

Watching the scene unfold just as he remembered it, Ryan couldn’t help a nervous sideways glance at his dad. He knew what this was all leading up to and he wasn’t sure he wanted his dad to bear witness to it.

“Can we move on?”

Sonny’s gaze swung to meet his. “I already told you; I’m not in control. You are.”

“Okay, what do _I_ have to do to move on?”

“That’s not how this works, I’m afraid. Each past Christmas we visit is one that was important in shaping your future. This memory must be seen before another can take its place. It is a journey.”

“Great,” Ryan huffed, crossing his arms irritably as he looked away. He felt his dad’s gaze remain on him and, when Sonny spoke again, there was a hesitancy to his voice.

“I didn’t realize how important Colin was to you... I thought he was just your friend.”

“He was. _Is_. The best.”

“But that’s not all, is it?” When Ryan looked at him sharply, Sonny held up his hands in submission. “I’m not judging. In death my eyes have been opened to many things I wish I’d known in life.”

“No,” Ryan answered after a small pause, his voice catching as he looked back at the young and untroubled pair before them. “He changed my life.”

“And this moment?”

“This was when I knew.”

Although Ryan remembered it clearly, it was hard to watch the memory play out right in front of him—the fun, the laughter, and the alcohol all mixing together to draw their bodies closer than they had any need to be, all leading up to that one moment when everything seemed to stand still and they could only look at each other. Ryan hadn’t yet had the courage to act upon the sudden impulse that flared in his brain, but the seed had been planted; a seed that had grown and blossomed and then eventually wilted like everything else in his life.

If Ryan thought the next memory would be easier, he was sorely mistaken. He recognized the old shabby apartment the moment it materialized and his stomach twisted painfully at the sight of Colin packing all of his belongings. Distraught, he turned on his father. “What is this?”

“This is your journey.” 

Ryan looked towards the door, knowing his younger self would appear at any moment. Sure enough, the door opened and young Ryan stopped in his tracks.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Colin answered without looking up.

Ryan floundered for a moment. “Why?”

“I can’t be with you anymore, not like this.”

“Like what?”

Colin slammed his case shut, rounding on Ryan with such intensity that it actually made him take a step back. “Jesus, Ryan, do you think I don’t know you’ve been seeing that waitress?”

The color drained from Ryan’s face. “I can explain.”

“You don’t have to. You’re ashamed of us; you always have been. I thought—hoped—that maybe you could work past it, but I guess that ship has sailed.”

“Colin, please—”

Shaking his head, Colin cut him off. “It’s too late. You weren’t ready for this, Ryan. Maybe you never will be.” He grabbed his bags and made for the door, passing Ryan with a final, “When you work out what it is you want, let me know.”

Tearing his gaze from Colin and his younger self, blinking back the tears that had misted his vision, Ryan uttered a broken plea. “No more. Please. Take me back.”

Sonny waved an arm and the scene dissolved, taking them back to the bedroom they’d left what seemed like a lifetime ago. “This part of your journey is complete. Soon another spirit will come to guide you onwards.”

Yet another sharp pang of sadness pierced Ryan’s heart. “You’re leaving?”

“I must. But know that I am never far away. Listen to the spirits, Ryan. Heed their words. All is not yet lost.”

Before Ryan could say another word his father had faded away, leaving the room in darkness. A wave of exhaustion swept over Ryan’s body as he sank onto the bed and, despite the tumult of thoughts and emotions filling his mind, he was unable to resist the pull of sleep.


	3. The Second Of The Three Spirits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting - it's been a busy week. Happy new year everyone. (✿◠‿◠)

When Ryan woke to the sound of the clock chiming, there was one moment of blissful ignorance before reality came crashing back in. Again the clock chimed once for the hour, an impossibility Ryan knew and yet it there it was, clear as day. He looked around the room warily, half-expecting a figure to be hiding in plain sight, but he was alone. Perhaps it really had all been a drink-fuelled hallucination and he was finally sobering up. That hope was dashed the next moment when the door opened. 

“Come on, sleepy head, up you get!”

Scrambling to sit up, Ryan had to blink several times. But there was no doubt about it; Florence Henderson really was standing in his doorway, clapping her hands at him to get up like he was eight years old.

“ _You_? _You’re_ the second ghost?”

“To be honest, I prefer the term heavenly apparition—this isn’t some cheap horror movie. But yes, I’m your ghost of Christmas Present. So up and at ‘em! Let’s get this Christmas Day started!”

“It’s still night-time,” Ryan pointed out, grudgingly hauling himself off the bed.

“Oh yes! One moment,” Florence said, waving an arm in a wide arcing motion. The room immediately brightened, sun streaming through the window. “There. Another beautiful Christmas morning!”

“Great,” Ryan muttered, squinting as his eyes adjusted. “And we’re going to do what exactly?”

“We’re going to do what you _should_ be doing on Christmas Day—spending it with those closest to you.”

“That will be a short list.”

“And have you wondered why that is?”

“Can we just get on with it please?”

“As you wish.” 

Florence took Ryan’s hand and, once again, the bedroom around him dissolved. Ryan found himself on a sunny Los Angeles street in front of a familiar residence.

“Do you recognize this place?”

“I should do, I lived in it for over fifteen years.” Ryan’s gaze wandered over the front of the house that now felt both familiar and different, noting all the changes since his residency—mostly things he’d always put his foot down about not doing, like ridiculous Christmas lights for instance. “The tacky decorations are new.”

“I think it looks wonderful!” Florence said easily. “Warm and festive and very inviting. Shall we go in?” Noticing Ryan’s hesitation, she laid a hand on his arm. “They won’t be able to see you. We are simply here to observe, nothing more.”

Ryan still didn’t like the sound of it, but it seemed like he didn’t have a choice. “Fine, whatever.”

In the blink of an eye, without even having to take a step, they were inside. The interior of the house was just as welcoming and it was filled with the delicious smells of a Christmas feast being prepared. Following the sound of voices, Ryan stepped towards the dining room. There he found Mac and Sam setting the table. Mac looked much the same as when he last saw her—the only difference being her hair, which was cut shorter—but Sam had shot up several inches and was now sporting a decent amount of facial hair. He paused in the midst of laying cutlery, his brow creasing into a frown.

“Hey, what’s with the extra place?” 

“Just in case,” Mac said, continuing her task.

Sam stared at her and then appeared to catch on, his expression turning exasperated. “Seriously? I don’t know why you bother trying. He won’t come.”

Ryan felt his gut twist at the realization that they were talking about him. 

“He’s still our dad.”

“In name maybe,” Sam grumbled. “But when was the last time he was actually a father to us?”

Mac finally looked up at him and shrugged. “I figured he deserved one last chance. I mean, we probably won’t be here next Christmas.”

Ryan blanched, his simmering guilt transforming to outright dismay. “Wait, what? What do you mean?” Realizing he wasn’t going to get an answer from someone who had no idea he was there, Ryan spun to face Florence. “What does she mean?”

“You’d know if you’d accepted the invitation.”

“Jesus, spare me the sanctimonious shit and just tell me!”

“Language,” Florence chided lightly, despite the fact that Mac and Sam remained blissfully unaware of any audience. They continued to set the table before them, having moved onto another topic of conversation entirely. “Clearly they’re planning to move away.”

“But they can’t!”

“Why? Do you spend any time with them?”

“Yes! Okay, not much lately,” Ryan conceded. “But that’s because things have been difficult.”

“For you.”

“Yes!”

“And what about them?” 

Despite his head starting to ache from his looming hangover, Ryan wished he had a drink in his hand. “What?”

“Do you know what’s going on in their lives?” Florence asked, her tone that of a teacher patiently explaining a problem. “The things they’re struggling with? Or have you made it all about you?

The tendrils of guilt were back, coiling tighter in Ryan’s gut. “We talk on the phone,” he argued. It sounded weak even to his ears.

“Well, you can do that no matter how far away they are.”

“That’s not the point,” Ryan deflected, anger bubbling up once again. “I’m their father!”

“And you still will be.”

Ryan threw his hands up. “Christ, why am I listening to you?”

“Because you have to; that’s the beauty of this deal. You also have to listen to _them_.”

The scene before them dissolved in a small shift of time, becoming the Christmas meal itself; now the table was laden with food and all of the chairs around it were filled, except for one. It was silently removed to create more room.

The last one to take her place at the table, Pat raised her glass. “Merry Christmas everyone.” She paused, smiling, as they all returned the toast. “I know it’s been a tough year for all of us, especially with Grandma’s passing.”

“When the hell did that happen?” Ryan demanded, swiftly hushed by Florence.

“But we’ve got through it together, and I think we’re all stronger for it. Here’s to a wonderful new year and new beginnings. Now let’s eat!”

Ryan had to admit that the veritable feast looked delicious. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a proper meal, or at least one that hadn’t come out of a take-out box.

“I hope our next Christmas is white,” Sam said, reaching for the nearest dish. “That’d be awesome.”

Pat smiled as she began to serve a little of everything onto a smaller plate for Claire, who was sitting in the chair beside her, bouncing excitedly in anticipation. “There’s a good chance.”

Ryan’s gaze lingered on his youngest child. Claire had been a surprise to say the least, coming along many years after his first two children. In truth, Ryan had always suspected that Pat had intentionally gotten pregnant to keep him with her. Although their marriage had been on the rocks for a while, a new kid was a big reason to stick around. And it worked, too; Ryan stuck it out for longer than he probably would have otherwise. But inevitably it all fell apart nonetheless and the outcome was the same, except now he was a disappointment to three kids instead of two. 

He turned away, guilt and resentment souring his mouth. “Are we done here?”

Florence studied him calmly for a moment and then shrugged, clicking her fingers. “If you say so.”

Ryan recognized the next house immediately as well. It was the one Colin had rented for the past few years—smaller and more compact than the family home they’d just come from but just as warm and inviting. Still, Ryan only felt a horrible sense of resignation.

“How did I know you were going to bring me here next?”

Florence shrugged again. “Like you said, it’s a short list. Shall we?” She gestured towards the house, still brutally cheerful. 

“Like I have a choice,” Ryan muttered mutinously, following Florence up the short few steps to the front door. For a moment he wondered if she was actually going to knock this time, but instead Florence took his hand and stepped right through the sturdy wooden door. 

The scents were different here, but no less enticing. Colin had always been talented in the kitchen (and elsewhere, but Ryan had to swiftly quash that thought) and he could rustle up almost anything. This Christmas he had apparently decided to go full Canadian, with tourtiere in the oven—Ryan could recognize that smell anywhere—and butter tarts on the counter for dessert. Colin, however, was nowhere to be seen. Ryan was about to question Florence when the doorbell chimed, quickly followed by footsteps down the stairs. Ryan’s curiosity took him back towards the door and the unknown visitor behind it—was Colin seeing someone now?—but his view was almost immediately blocked by Colin himself, looking dashing in a deep blue shirt and black pants.

“Hey!” Colin said in greeting upon opening the door. Ryan still couldn’t see who it was; evidently not a tall person. “Merry Christmas! Come in.”

Realization dawned on Ryan as the greeting was returned. It wasn’t a new person in Colin’s life at all, but an old one.

Deb stepped into the house, kissing Colin on the cheek with a warm smile. “You’re looking good!”

“So are you.”

“Mmm something smells good too.”

Laughing, Colin took her coat. “Thought I’d make your favorite.”

“And that’s why you’re still one of my favorite people.”

Colin instantly adopted an expression of mock-offense. “Only one of them?”

“Top three?” Deb offered, eyes sparkling.

“I’ll take it,” Colin grinned. “Would you like a glass of wine?”

“Like you need to ask.”

Following Colin into the kitchen, Deb glanced around. “No Ryan?”

Just behind her, Ryan felt a jolt at his name. 

“I didn’t invite him,” Colin answered, fetching a couple of glasses from a cupboard. “And since he didn’t even bother to go to the Christmas party last night like he promised he would, I doubt he would have come anyway.”

“Oh honey.” Deb gave his shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. “You okay?”

Colin finished pouring the wine and set the bottle aside, turning to pass her a glass. “You know what? I am. I went to the party anyway and I had a great time. I didn’t have to worry about Ryan drinking too much and making a scene or passing out somewhere, and I didn’t have to ask someone to help me get him in the car at the end of the night. It actually made me realize a few things.”

Deb lent against the counter next to him. “Like what?”

“Like…” Colin sighed, taking a sip of wine. “Like it’s not my job to save him. For a while I thought maybe I could, that there was some small piece of the old Ryan that I could reach underneath all of that bitterness and anger. But...” He shook his head.

“Don’t say it,” Ryan pleaded, suddenly very afraid. He didn’t even care that he had an audience. Colin was the one person who had always been there for him no matter what.

“I’m done trying.”

There it was, hitting Ryan like a brutal punch to the solar plexus except it left him winded emotionally rather than physically. He stepped closer, as if to stop Colin from saying any more, as if his mere presence could stop it. Florence’s hand on his arm brought him back to reality.

“I know how difficult that must be for you to say,” Deb was saying, “considering how you feel about him.”

Colin took another sip of wine and sighed into his glass. “I loved the old Ryan; not the twisted shell of a person he is now. It’s time to get on with my life.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Well, I’m going to move back to Canada for a start. Take it from there.”

“No, no, no, no, you can’t go too,” Ryan said, squeezing his eyes shut as the conversation before them carried on unhindered. “This isn’t happening.”

“I’m afraid it is,” Florence replied.

Ryan looked at her despairingly. “But what will I do?”

“What you do is the one thing you _can_ control.” She took his arm. “Come on, we have one last stop.”

Night had fallen by the time they arrived at their final destination, and it couldn’t have been more different to the last. Gone were the well-maintained houses with sweeping lawns and private driveways; instead there were shabby apartment blocks lining a cluttered street, several boarded up. Some residents had attempted to add festive cheer to their apartments, but the broken lights and tired garlands somehow made the scene look even more bleak.

Confused, Ryan turned to Florence. “Why are we here? I don’t know anyone who lives in this kind of neighborhood.”

“You sure about that?”

At that precise moment a door to a nearby apartment block opened and a harassed-looking woman appeared through it carrying bags of trash. It took Ryan a minute to recognize her. 

“That’s Kathy, my cleaning lady. She lives _here_?”

Kathy had barely deposited the trash in a dumpster when another smaller figure appeared in the doorway.

“Mom! It’s Timmy!”

Kathy rushed inside, Ryan and Florence following her into a chilly ground floor apartment, straight through a small living area into an even smaller bedroom. There were two beds crammed into that room and on one of them was a little boy, sitting hunched over, wheezing and coughing. His shoes were worn and his clothes were threadbare apart from a knitted rainbow-colored scarf around his neck.

“We were just playing,” Kathy’s daughter, who looked to be four or five years older than her brother, explained anxiously.

“It’s okay, baby,” Kathy said, crouching down in front of her son and grasping his hands. “You just got a little too excited. Nice slow deep breaths. That’s it.” 

Although she was speaking in a calm reassuring tone, Ryan could hear the deep-seated worry underneath—the worry that resonated with every parent.

“What’s wrong with him?” he asked Florence in a hushed voice. It seemed wrong to raise it any louder.

“I believe he has heart failure.”

“Heart failure?” Ryan repeated, aghast. “But he’s only, what, seven? How—”

“Six,” Florence cut in. “And he was born with a congenital heart condition that has only worsened over time.” She glanced at him with a small frown. “You didn’t know?”

“I knew she had kids, but I had no idea her son was so sick...” He looked back at the small figure struggling for air, forcibly reminded of his own son at that age. “Why isn’t he getting treatment?”

“He needs a new heart and they don’t have insurance.”

“What? Why?”

“She couldn’t afford it, despite working three separate jobs including yours. You really didn’t know any of this?”

“I never asked,” Ryan admitted. 

“She does the best she can with what little she has,” Florence continued. “And she always tries to make Christmas special for the kids, even if she has to go without.”

“She’s been cleaning for me for four years and I barely know anything about her. Jesus, what does that say about me?”

“That’s a question for you to answer.”

Timmy was breathing a little easier now, some color returning to his cheeks, but the seriousness of his condition was plain to see.

“Will he live?”

“That’s the future, Ryan. I only deal with the present. However, it doesn’t look good. If his path remains unchanged, I believe he will die within a year.” She paused, looking Ryan directly in the eye. “But there are too many people in L.A. anyway, right? So what’s another death?”

Ryan dropped his gaze, guilt and shame twisting his insides. It was all too easy not to care when it was faceless strangers; this was very different. “I didn’t mean that,” he said quietly.

“Didn’t you?” Florence pressed, but her tone was gentle. “Come on, my time is almost up.” She touched his hand and, in the blink of an eye, they were back out on the street.

“Wait, you’re leaving already?”

“I have to. The third spirit will be here soon to continue your journey.”

Ryan swallowed nervously, glancing around. “I’m not going back to my bedroom?”

“Not this time. My part of this story ends shortly on the final stroke of midnight. Your journey will then continue with the ghost of Christmas yet to come.”

At that very moment, a nearby church bell began to chime and Ryan started. How was it midnight already? 

“Wait!”

Already fading, Florence laid a soft hand on his cheek. “Heed the lessons of this night, Ryan. So much depends upon it.”


	4. The Last Of The Spirits

What little warmth and light there had been seemed to disappear with Florence. The shadows were somehow darker, the street and buildings more threatening. As the final chime faded a dark hooded figure appeared before Ryan, bringing with it an icy chill and a certain dread of what was to come. 

“You’re the third spirit?” Ryan tried to speak boldly despite his underlying fear. He got no answer.

This final spirit couldn’t have been more different to the first two, who had brought the comfort of familiarity and had shown kindness—even love. There was no comfort to be found here; not the slightest shred. Where a face should have been there was only impenetrable darkness, without even the glint of eyes within. It felt to Ryan as if death himself had come to claim him.

“The ghost of Christmas yet to come?”

Once again the spirit didn’t answer, lifting a cloaked arm as if to point at something. Turning, Ryan saw the street begin to swirl inwards like a black hole. His first instinct was to back away, but the spirit held him in place and moved him inexorably towards it and whatever surprises lay within. 

Instead of the inky blackness Ryan was expecting, they stepped into a kind of fog. He couldn’t see anything clearly, only indistinct shapes passing by him, but some of them felt vaguely familiar.

When the fog eventually cleared, Ryan thought for a moment that something had gone wrong because they seemed to be back where they started. And it was definitely the same street, but looking around he could see subtle differences; a nearby tree was no longer there, the fence to his right had a fresh coat of paint, and the windows in the nearest property were decorated differently. Still, he didn’t understand.

“Why are we still here?”

Again a cloaked arm was raised, pointing back to the apartment he had just stepped out of. Fear gripped Ryan as he retraced his steps to the door. It opened just as he reached it, not through the spirit’s magic as Ryan first thought but by Kathy who was once again taking out the trash. She looked noticeably older, as though the years had weighed heavily upon her, her steps labored. It was so stark a contrast that Ryan had to wonder how far into the future they’d come.

He followed her back inside, noting the sparse decorations and quiet atmosphere. It wasn’t the bright apartment he’d been in before.

Kathy paused in the empty living room. “Martha?”

“In here!”

She carried on into a modest kitchen, where her daughter was busy at the sink cleaning the dishes. “I can do that, baby. You’ve already done so much today.”

Martha flashed a smile and shook her head. “It’s okay, mom, I don’t mind. You go rest.”

Clearly touched by the gesture, Kathy kissed Martha on the temple and retreated to her bedroom. She sat down heavily on the bed and for a moment simply stared unseeingly at the wall. Then, turning to reach under her pillow, she pulled some sort of rainbow-colored garment out and gently pressed her nose into it. It took Ryan a second to realize it was Timmy’s scarf. 

“Wait, where’s—” The question caught in his throat, already answered by the tears sliding down Kathy’s face into the soft wool. “No...” Ryan looked to his companion as Kathy sank down onto the bed and curled into a ball, the scarf still clutched tightly to her face. “This isn’t right. He was just a kid!”

The spirit stood impassively, untouched by neither the sight of a mother’s grief nor Ryan’s protests. Instead the scene dissolved back into fog and the spirit began to move again, Ryan swept along as if linked by an invisible cord. Again shadowy figures passed them by, faint whispers going with them. This time their walk felt longer and Ryan was beginning to feel alarmingly claustrophobic when the air gradually began to clear.

In the mist just ahead of them the outline of another figure appeared; this one unmistakable even from behind.

“Colin?” Ryan frowned, looking to his ominous companion and back again. “What’s going on?”

It was almost as if Colin heard him because at that moment he turned around, and the look on his face made Ryan’s heart stumble. It was a look of pure love and happiness and, for one shining moment, Ryan thought it was directed at him. Then someone else was walking past Ryan, taking Colin’s loving gaze with him. 

“Col...”

Everything shifted into focus in that moment; flowers, the soft strains of classical music, a room full of guests, and two people now standing hand in hand before them all ready to make their vows. Feeling sick to his stomach, Ryan had to grab onto a nearby chair to steady himself. 

“Why are you showing me all this? Is it just to torture me?” He turned on the spirit furiously. “Speak to me, damn it!”

But the figure remained silent, allowing the sounds of the ceremony to intrude once again. Ryan closed his eyes against the pain of it.

“Okay, I get it! I’m an asshole! This is the only future I have to look forward to and I have no one else to blame but myself. Happy? Can we go now?” Not getting a response, Ryan’s anger crumbled into despair. “Please,” he croaked, tears pricking his eyes. “Don’t make me listen to this.”

Finally, after a long moment, the spirit moved to dismiss the scene. Ryan couldn’t resist one last glance at Colin and paid dearly for it, his already fragile heart threatening to shatter completely. The mist, which before had been horribly constricting, was now a welcome sight. He didn’t want to see any more. 

But it seemed that their journey wasn’t quite done yet for the air soon cleared again, and the first thing that Ryan saw was a church. He groaned. “Another wedding?”

The figure beside him silently pointed ahead and the doors to the church slowly creaked open. As they moved towards them, Ryan felt his unease grow. It settled at the bottom of his stomach like a dead weight, making each step a little harder than the last. What could possibly be worse than the moment he’d just stepped out of, he reasoned, but the feeling persisted.

Finally they were through the doors and into the church, and Ryan knew immediately that it was not another wedding or any kind of celebration. Slow somber music drifted from a small organ near the front where a large casket was laid, and a handful of mourners sat in nearby pews. 

Ryan stepped closer to a couple of women seated further back, who were in the midst of a whispered conversation.

“Really?” one said in surprise before pointing to another mourner several pews in front of them on the other side. “And who’s that?”

“The cleaner,” the other answered, and it seemed to Ryan like she was a little too gleeful in imparting her knowledge. “She was the one who found him, poor thing. Apparently the old man had been lying there dead for days.”

“Well that explains the closed casket.”

“Yeah, not pretty.”

“No one missed him?”

“No one _left_ to miss him. He drove his family and friends away years ago. He was a very bitter, lonely old sinner.”

Ryan grimaced. Whoever the deceased was, it was clear that they hadn’t been well loved. And it was obviously meant as a lesson for him and his life. 

“Point taken,” he said, knowing without having to look that the spirit was close beside him. The chill was unmistakable. “This could easily be me if I don’t change my ways. Can we get out of here?”

In response, a long cloaked arm slowly rose to point in the direction of the closed casket. Assuming he was required to take a closer look, for whatever reason, Ryan slowly continued to walk forward. Admittedly he was curious as to the identity of this poor soul, despite the bleak atmosphere weighing heavily on the place. In fact he was so focused on the casket that he barely glanced at the other mourners. That was until something caught his eye—a brightly colored scarf around the neck of the woman near the front, the cleaner. 

Wait. 

Ryan’s gaze swung abruptly up to her face and then around to rest on the casket in horror. The engraved plate on the lid glinted in the light, and although Ryan was still too far away to see the name that was written there he now knew with a dreadful certainty that it was his very own. He stumbled backwards. 

He was dead just like Timmy, except Timmy’s funeral would have been a well attended and painfully emotional goodbye.

“No. _No_. This isn’t my future!” Grabbing hold of the cloaked figure in terrified desperation, Ryan pleaded to whatever lay beneath it. “It doesn’t have to be, right?” He fell to his knees before the spirit, bowing his head in anguish. “I can change it. I can _change_. Why show it to me otherwise? _Please_.” Ryan shook the folds clutched tightly in each hand and then collapsed against them, his final word barely a whisper. “Please.”

Abruptly the spirit stepped back and Ryan fell forwards… onto something soft. 

A bed. 

_His_ bed?

Ryan scrambled up and looked around. His bedroom was exactly as it had been—with the exception that it was now growing light outside; there wasn’t the slightest indication that anything out of the ordinary had happened at all. But it _had_ happened. Ryan could remember every frightening detail. The question was no longer where he was, but when. How much time had he lost?

“Oh god, please,” Ryan pleaded, reaching for his cell. His trembling fingers turned it over to see the displayed date. December 25th. He hadn’t missed it! The spirits had done it all in one night. The question of how he wasn’t completely exhausted after having had next to no sleep or extremely hung-over was swiftly pushed aside. It was Christmas morning and he’d never been so glad to see it. Now he just needed to start putting things right.


	5. The End Of It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just going to post this now or I'll be tweaking it til the end of time! Hope you enjoy the conclusion. :)

A couple of hours later, showered, changed, and on a mission, Ryan stepped out of his front door into the sunshine. Clutching a large bag at his side, he took a deep breath of fresh air before heading to his car. There were several stops to be made and not a moment to lose.

The now familiar neighborhood looked even worse during the day, the sunlight exposing its scars and neglect in vivid detail. Ryan parked up and grabbed a plain white envelope from the bag on the seat beside him.

When the door opened a few seconds after his knock, Kathy’s blue eyes widened comically. “Mr. Stiles?” She surreptitiously pulled the door closed behind her to block his view of her shabby apartment. “What—I wasn’t supposed to be working today, was I? Because my kids—”

“No!” Ryan rushed to reassure her. “No, nothing like that. I just wanted to give you your Christmas card.”

Kathy couldn’t have looked more surprised if he’d sprouted three heads and done a merry dance. “You… you did?” she said, doubt and confusion coloring her tone as she looked down at the proffered card. “Wait, how do you even know where I live?”

“I have contacts,” Ryan replied, the image of a smiling Florence floating to the forefront of his mind. “Here.” He pushed the envelope into her hand. “There’s a Christmas bonus in there for you too.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Kathy said uncertainly. “Do you want to—”

Ryan knew she was about to invite him in out of politeness and swiftly interceded. “That’s okay, I’ll let you get back to your family. Merry Christmas!”

Still clearly stunned at the whole conversation, Kathy could only repeat the words back as he retreated.

Ryan was almost back to the car when he heard a shriek from behind. “A hundred thousand dollars! He’s given me a hundred thousand dollars! Oh my god!” He grinned, knowing that it wasn’t the last of the surprises, knowing that they’d soon have full health insurance and a brand new car. His heart warmed at the thought, eclipsing the memory of that bleak future Christmas scene that he was now so determined to prevent from ever occurring.

The next stop was going to be a little more difficult, but Ryan’s determination didn’t waver as he walked the short path to the front door. When it opened, Mac looked even more astonished than Kathy.

“Dad?!”

Ryan smiled. “That invitation still open?”

“Yes! Yeah. I just, I didn’t think…” She shook herself out of her stupor and smiled widely. “Come in!”

It was strange to be back where he’d been only hours ago. There were the same decorations, the same delicious smells; the only difference was that he was very much visible to the occupants. Mac had barely started to announce his arrival when a small blur came running into his arms. 

“Daddy!”

“Hey Sunny.” The nickname rolled easily off Ryan’s tongue despite the length of time since he’d last used it. He’d never been a hugging kind of person and usually extricated himself from her grip as soon as possible, but today he allowed her to hold on as long as she wanted and he was rewarded with a beaming smile.

“Ryan.” Pat appeared from the direction of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. “How are you?”

It was a loaded question; she was looking for the usual signs of drunkenness and belligerence, and he couldn’t blame her.

“I’m good. Great, actually. Thanks for inviting me. Hey Sam,” he added, for his son has just emerged from the kitchen behind her.

Sam flashed a sideways glance at his mother. He was clearly as cautious as her. “Hi.” 

“I have gifts,” Ryan said, lifting the bag in his right hand. “They’re not wrapped, but then I was never very good at that anyway. Not like your mother, huh?”

That seemed to break Pat out of her reverie. Having found none of the warning signs she was looking for, she moved forward with a genuine smile and offered to take his jacket. She was even more surprised yet pleased when he opted for orange juice rather than liquor for a drink.

Once they were all seated, Ryan presented Mac with a large velvet box. “This is yours. I thought maybe you’d like to wear it for your wedding.”

Opening it up, Mac gasped. Inside was a tiara, with glistening jewels woven elaborately into the thin branches of silver.

“It belonged to your great-grandmother.”

Mac swallowed thickly, blinking back tears as she looked up. “It would be perfect. _Thank you_.” Ryan suddenly found himself embraced in a fierce hug. “Does that mean…” She lifted her head. “Will you give me away?”

“I’d be honored,” Ryan said, smiling when Mac beamed and hugged him even tighter. “Where is your fiancé anyway?” he asked when they broke apart.

“He had to see his folks, but he’ll be over later. I can’t _wait_ to show him this,” she added, going back to admiring the tiara.

Ryan reached for the next gift in his bag. “Sam, this one is for you. It was my father’s,” he explained when Sam pulled the gold pocket watch from its pouch. 

“Cool!” 

“I can show you how to properly maintain it if you like.”

Sam nodded, already studying the watch’s intricate inner workings. “Yeah, that’d be great.” To Ryan’s relief, he appeared genuinely enthused. “Thanks, Dad.”

The third gift was the one Ryan was least worried about because he already knew Claire loved it.

“Okay, Sunny, your turn.” He slowly pulled her gift out of the bag, watching her face light up. “Do you know who this is?”

“Gramma’s teddy bear!”

Grinning, Ryan nodded and handed it to her. He was acutely aware that he’d always been reluctant to even let Claire touch the bear, much less hold it, and there had been several times when he’d caught her playing with it and had scolded her severely. It was a treasured part of his family history. But, just as it had been handed down to his mother, it was time to hand it down to the next generation.

“You have to promise to take very good care of him and treat him right, okay? He’s a very old part of the family.”

She nodded solemnly, hugging the bear as if it was the most precious thing in the world. “I promise.”

“Oh look, there’s one more present,” Ryan said, looking into the bag. “This must be Mommy’s.”

Pat, who until this point had been smiling approvingly from the sidelines, looked startled. “For me?” She took the box from him and opened it curiously to reveal diamond drop earrings. Her eyes flew back up to Ryan’s in surprise. “But these were your mother’s! No, I can’t accept them.”

“I know you’ve always liked them,” Ryan said with a shrug. “And you can pass them on to the girls as a family keepsake.”

She still looked doubtful. “Ryan—”

“Please? I want you to have them.”

Pat appeared uncharacteristically lost for words. She reached out tentatively to clasp his arm warmly. “Thank you.” 

The atmosphere was much more relaxed from that point on. Even when Pat tentatively mentioned their upcoming move during lunch, and the reasons for it, Ryan took it in his stride.

“I can still come visit, right?”

“Of course!” Pat said, breaking into a relieved smile.

After lunch was cleared away they played a few games and the house was once again filled with laughter. Ryan was then invited to stay for dinner so he could meet Bryan, Mac’s fiancé, but this he had to decline. Seeing Mac’s disappointment, he explained that he had another visit to make before Christmas day ended but promised to come back soon, adding that he very much intended to keep that promise and all others from then on. All three of his children hugged him goodbye.

Ryan stood before the short flight of steps that led to his final stop of the day. This visit, more than any other, held the key to his future happiness and the weight of that responsibility was not lost on him. 

The door opened before he could even raise a hand to knock.

“Ryan? What are you doing here?”

Startled, Ryan quickly rallied. “Merry Christmas!” he exclaimed, holding his gift of wine aloft.

Colin eyed the bottle warily. “Are you drunk again?”

“No! I’m not, I promise,” Ryan assured him. “I actually tipped every bottle of liquor I had at home down the sink, apart from this one. This one is special and it’s for you.”

Colin was still looking at him blankly, so Ryan pushed on. “I just wanted to come over and apologize for my behavior last night and…” He paused, gathering his courage. “Can we talk? Inside?”

For a moment Colin looked as if he was going to refuse, but then he stepped back and opened the door wider. “Yeah. Okay.”

Ryan took a few calming breaths as he entered the house, trying to organize his thoughts. He had to get this just right.

“Is this…” Colin looked closer at the bottle’s label then stared up at Ryan. “How did you get hold of a 1907 Heidsieck?”

“I got it with my first paycheck when I hit the big time.”

The corner of Colin’s mouth quirked upwards, along with an eyebrow. “You hit the big time?”

Ryan huffed a laugh, instantly more at ease. This tiny hint of their old playful banter was grounding in its familiarity and gave Ryan some much-needed hope that all wasn’t yet lost.

“Okay, what’s brought this on?” Colin asked, placing the bottle down carefully before turning his full attention back to Ryan. “Yesterday you didn’t seem to care about anyone or anything and now you’re like a different person.

“Actually yeah, I am.”

“Why? What happened?”

Not knowing how to even begin to try to explain events of the past twenty four hours, Ryan deflected. “It’s a long story; let’s just say I had a big wake-up call and it’s made me re-evaluate my priorities.”

“And what are those?”

“The important stuff—family, friends, good deeds... but right at the top of that list is you.”

Colin blinked. “Me?”

“You were right. I wasn’t ready.”

“For what?”

“To accept myself for who I was. Who I _am_.” Ryan offered a sheepish shrug. “I got scared and retreated to what was expected of me; marriage, kids...”

“Not me, in other words,” Colin finished for him with a nod.

“And look how that decision turned out. If I could go back and do things differently, I wouldn’t hesitate. But I can only change the here and now.”

“What are you saying?”

“I love you. I always have. I didn’t know how to handle that before, but I do now. I want to be with you for the rest of the years I have.”

Colin’s moment of stunned incredulity broke with a huff of something close to laughter. “Ryan, you can’t just walk in and—”

“I know, I know, it’s a lot. And we can go as slowly as you want. I promise to spend every day ensuring you never regret it. Just tell me we still have a shot.”

Ryan could tell Colin was starting to waver, love and hope warring with doubt and fear in his hazel eyes. Deciding to go all in, he reached out to take Colin’s hands in both of his and squeezed gently.

“You’re my best friend, Col, and I’ve loved you every one of the years I’ve known you. My life’s inseparable from yours. We’ve been parted by jobs, marriages, even countries, and we’ve still been closer to each other than anyone in the world. I know you’ve put up with an insane amount of my shit, but that’s done now. I can’t take it back. I can only be the man you deserve from this day on… if you’ll let me. Please.”

“You really mean it,” Colin said, studying his face with something close to wonder. Ryan didn’t flinch.

“I do.”

Blowing out a long breath, Colin looked down for several moments and then, when Ryan was starting to fear the worst, he raised his head to meet Ryan’s gaze with a small smile.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Ryan stared at him, wide-eyed. “Does that mean…”

“Kiss me, you idiot.”

Ryan was as good as his word. He stopped drinking from that day and, in-between stage and TV work, did all he could to support children’s charities helping other kids like Timmy, who got his new heart and a new chance at life. Ryan continued to look out for him (becoming something close to an honorary uncle), just as he did his kids, supporting them in all their endeavors from afar and visiting as often as possible. He had his favorite of Mac’s wedding photos—one of him proudly walking her down the aisle—framed and displayed in his home for all to see. 

As news of his good deeds spread, more offers for work came in. Ryan accepted some of them, but never let his focus drift too far from what was most important—family and charity. He even got many of his old celebrity friends involved in annual charitable events, raising huge amounts of money and putting a good deal of his own into it too.

And on Christmas Day two years later, it was Ryan who walked down the aisle towards the love of his life and the promise of a brighter future.

**Epilogue**

On a winter’s evening years later, ensconced on a couch before a roaring fire, Ryan finally told Colin of what happened that fateful night.

“You think I’m crazy?” he asked once he’d finished the tale.

“No,” Colin said, squeezing his waist with a gentle smile. “I believe it was real for you. And hey, whatever the explanation behind it, it brought you back to me. For that, I’ll be eternally grateful.”

Ryan drew him into a kiss, inwardly marveling at just how lucky he was and offering a fervent thank you to the spirits who had changed his life for the better. “Me too.”


End file.
